brightly from the rosy autumn sky, as if to bid a friendly farewell to the poor, trembling children of men, and remind them of the God who is from everlasting their Father and Redeemer. Mrs. Lindfelder had stood silently beside her husband for some time, looking sympathizingly at him. Now she laid her hand on his shoulder, and said gently, "Anton, you must not always look down so sadly; look up to heaven, from whence our help cometh." "Finy!" called at this moment a young strong voice from the top of the old tree,-" Finy, hold out your apron; I have found three-four-no, still more apples!" Even Anton Lindfelder involuntarily looked up with the rest; and little Lena, who had learned to walk now, toddled about, clapping her hands and calling again and again, "Apples! oh, apples!" Josephine did as she was told. The two boys, who had just returned from the Sunday school, came running up, and Tony, the eldest son, threw the yellow apples | with their red cheeks carefully, one by one, into Josephine's apron. "O auntie, look; how wonderful!" said the girl softly to Mrs. Lindfelder; "there are seven apples-exactly one for each of us!" Mrs. Lindfelder smiled and went into the house to fetch bread for the children. Meanwhile Tony had swung himself down from the tree, tossed little Lena up in the air, and called merrily to her, "Now that I have fetched you apples, you must give me a kiss for them." Josephine divided the apples; the largest for father and mother; then Lena, the boys, and Tony. For herself she kept a little shrivelled one. "Poor Finy, yon can't eat that one; come here, I will give you half of mine," cried Tony; and taking a knife from his pocket, he divided his apple and handed her the half. "Father, won't you have a bit of bread too?" asked Mrs. Lindfelder cheerfully. "I can't give you wine now; but see what beautiful apples the Lord has sent us for our Sunday supper." "Seven apples, Salome! Last winter we had more than seven great baskets full, and now the poor children will have none all winter," replied the man with a deep sigh. "Dresy does not want any bread, and he won't eat his apple," exclaimed Hammy, who had finished his own apple, and would have had no objections to appropriate that of his brother. "Are you sick, Dresy?" asked the mother. "No; but I'm not hungry," replied the boy in a voice choked with tears. "Dresy, what ails you? what is the matter, my child?" Instead of answering, Dresy fled to Josephine, hid his face in her dress, and began to sob loudly. "I'll tell you, mother, what's the matter with him," began Hammy in a low tone: "he's been crying all the time in the Sunday school, and he wouldn't tell why, but I know." "Well, what is it?" "He thinks we can't go to the school this winter, but must both go and work in the factory. Father was speaking about it this morning, and he heard him.” "And that has troubled you so, my poor boy?" said the mother, gently lifting his head. Dresy nodded and continued crying bitterly. An expression of pain passed over the father's face; he grew pale, pressed his hand to his eyes, and went quickly into the house. The mother left her weeping boy and hurried after him. Josephine had grown pale too: large tears stood in her clear blue eyes, and she asked tremblingly, "Ah, Tony, what is troubling my uncle so? And why must the poor boys go to the factory? Uncle was always sɔ against it.” Tony bit his lips and was evidently struggling with painful emotions, but he answered as calmly as possible, "In a week the mortgage on our house falls due. My father must meet it, and he has no money; and our income is not enough to keep us now. Two-he and I -must work for seven; and in this dear time it is impossible." "You have forgotten me, Tony. I have served my time now, and can dress and iron with any one. Mrs. Stehwart has promised to get me customers for the winter. I will do my best to please; so that they will be glad to have me back again. And if I earn a shilling every day and bring it home, don't you think, Tony, that that would be help enough, even in these hard times? and the boys could stay at school." "But you haven't got the customers and the shillings yet, my poor Finy. It may be many weeks before you do; and meanwhile we will have to sell our house, and rent some dark little hole in the town, and send the boys to the factory. "Sell our house, our dear house, and go into the town!" cried Josephine in dismay. Dresy cast a despairing look on his brother; and Hammy asked quietly, "And the apple tree too?" "I would rather jump into the water than go to the factory," mourned Dresy. "Well," said Hammy, "plenty other boys go, and they don't die of it. If I don't go to school any more, I'll have no lessons to learn, and no exercises to write. But, Tony, I'd rather be a carpenter, like you, than work in the factory." "Oh, look-look-how many birds!" cried Lena joyfully, pointing with her little hands at a flock of snow-geese which flew rustling over their heads. Hammy called, at the top of his voice, "Stork, stork, your house is burning!" "Stork yourself, you stupid boy," said Dresy; "the storks come in spring, and not in autumn. These are snow-geese, and are a sign of a cold winter." "And where are they flying to?" "To America, Hammy," answered Dresy knowingly, and seemed to forget his trouble in the opportunity of showing off his learning. "To America! then they must fly over the sea?" "Of course, or else they couldn't get there; for it is on the other side of the sun." "But, Dresy, how can they fly so long without stopping? Schoolmaster's Eddie told me that when people go to America, they must sail many, many weeks on the sea before they get there. It's not true, Dresy; the geese can't fly over the sea." But Dresy had an answer ready. "You stupid, the geese can swim; and when they are tired of flying, they let themselves down on the water to rest." "And it would seem that they like to travel in large companies, for look, there comes a flock larger even than the first one," said Tony, watching their swift flight with glancing eyes. "Ah, Finy," he continued after a pause, “I wish I could fly away with the snowgeese!" "You, Tony! where would you go?" "Away from here, over land and sea, Finy, to the great, free America, where the poor man is a man still; where no one wants bread who has strong limbs and a will to work." "Don't be afraid, Finy; we will not use a bit of firewood: I have saved up the potato shaws and dried them; they will make a splendid fire, and the ashesare good for manure; and I have brought a few pine branches from the forest to help. So come along, boys; we will soon kindle a fire that shall make the mist fly." "And roast potatoes in it!" cried the boys joyfully. "No," said Josephine, "I'm afraid you can't do that. The potatoes are so dear; and aunt has so few, we must not ask for any." "But why did God let so little corn grow this year' again, and so few potatoes, and no fruit at all?” "To teach us to pray, and to thank him for what he gives us, Hammy," said Josephine earnestly. "Tell me, when you get up in the morning and expect your coffee and bread, or when you come in hungry to your dinner, do you remember always that the good God gives us all we have to eat? and do you pray to him, 'Give us this day our daily bread' ?” The boys shook their heads. "Or when mother has cooked you something nice, and you have eaten and enjoyed it, do you thank your The boys shook their heads again. "Far from being thankful, have you not often grumbled and been discontented? 'Boiled potatoes again!' or, 'Nothing but roasted apples!' And we have all been alike: we have not prayed for our daily bread, nor given thanks for the food which the Lord sent us in plenty; and therefore (as the pastor said at the harvest-feast) God has sent the blight and the famine to teach us to pray and to give thanks even for little; for if that little had not grown, we must all have starved-the rich and the poor together." This frightened Josephine even more than the pros-heavenly Father for it?” pect of selling the house, and she said reproachfully, "But, Tony, it would not be right of you to forsake your parents and the children now in these hard times." Tony laid his hand, brown and hard with work, on her arm, and said in a soft voice, "Stupid Finy, I am like the snow-geese, and would not wish to travel alone, but with you, Finy,-with you, and the father and mother, and the children. I would like to go and fly to America with you all, to build you a house in the beautiful green forest with the trees that my own axe had cut down-a house with no mortgage on it. I would care for you and work for you in the free country, where honest labour has its fair reward. Oh, you would all be happy there!" "Tony, when you build the house I'll be the mason; I know how mortar is made," said Hammy, who had listened with eyes and mouth wide open. "And Finy must cook," cried Dresy; "she bakes such delightful cakes." Josephine's cheeks glowed, she did not well know why. She took little Lena in her arms, and said, "But what will we do with you, poor Dresy? for in the backwoods of America we will have no use for a professor." "Swiss Anna always says Brefessor," put in Hammy. "That reminds me that I must go and ask for old Eli, who has been ill. I promised aunt that I would go this evening; but this talk has put it out of my head." "Don't go just now, Finy," said Tony; "it is late already, and there is a heavy mist; it would be quite dark before you got into the town. The boys and I will go with you by-and-by, and wait in the street for you. But first we will give the children a treat, and light a harvest fire." "A harvest fire! what are you thinking of, Tony, when wood and everything else is so dear?" "It has caught at last!" cried Tony, wiping his eyes, which were watering with the smoke. The boys shouted for joy, and seizing long sticks, poked and stirred the fire to their hearts' content. Tony watched that they did not get into danger; and whenever the fire seemed like to go out, he threw fresh pine branches and fir-cones on it. Then when it burned up bright again, there was a fresh burst of delight. The boys shouted, Tony and Josephine laughed, and little Lena clapped her hands, and blew at "the pretty fire," with her little mouth screwed up so funnily, that the others laughed till they were tired. Tony was everywhere; now helping Josephine to hold Lena back, now warning the boys, now catching Josephine's skirt, and calling to her, "Take care, Finy, or you'll vanish in fire and smoke yourself!" Happy times of childhood and youth! Over the snow-geese, America, and the harvest-fire, they had forgotten all their sorrow and the hard winter with all its cares and anxieties. Not so the poor father inside, with his heavy, careworn heart. He had worked hard and honestly all his life, and it had been of no use. Now, in his old age, he must suffer want with his wife and children; must be driven out of the cottage in which he was born and had lived all his life, and which seemed to have become part of his being. With hasty steps he paced up and down in the clean, tidy room; and when his wife entered, he broke out in bitter complaints and curses on his hard, undeserved fate. "He had not expected anything unreasonable; he only wished to live honestly and bring up his children well; and now he must send the poor boys to that soul-destroying factory; must leave his house, and starve with his children; while the rich, even in the hard times, have plenty of everything; and in the midst of their feasting trouble their heads little about the poor men who toil and work for them. No, wife!" he exclaimed, getting more and more excited, and striking the table with his fist, "don't tell me again that there is a just God in heaven; for if there were, there would be more justice and equality on earth!” Mrs. Lindfelder took the clenched hand gently between both her own, and said beseechingly, "Husband, husband! sin not against God. Do you remember when our Salome died, and you were raging just like this, your good old father sat in the arm-chair there; and I think I hear him still calling to you, 'Antony, Antony! do not quarrel with God in heaven!'" "And why did the poor child die? why but because we were too poor to give her proper nourishment! The rich people feed up their children with sugar and cake, and travel about the whole world with them for their health, when we can't get a drop of wine or a morsel of meat to keep our little one alive. O wife, it was not well to remind me of that just now!" "True, Antony; I too sinned then. For when the doctor said to me I must give Salome roast beef and Bordeaux wine, and baths with four pounds of salt, I answered him bitterly, 'He surely did not know what poverty was, when he ordered such a cure for my sick child.' And then when Salome grew thinner and thinner, and suffered so much, I was always thinking, if we were rich our child need not die. But afterwards, when my three children died so soon after their birth, I repented, and humbled myself under the hand of God, and acknowledged that the death of these three little ones was the just punishment of my murmuring. And then when Dresy, Hammy, and our little Lena throve so beautifully, grew like flax, and bloomed like roses, then, Antony, I saw to my shame that God could make the children strong and healthy without roast beef or Bordeaux wine, when it is his will.” "You will not long rejoice in their good health, mother. When the house is sold, and we must live in a damp, unhealthy hole in the town, and the poor boys are shut up all day long in the factory! I would willingly suffer want and hunger myself, mother; but the children-poor Dresy, who might have come to something (the schoolmaster was telling me so yesterday again), to take him from the school, that breaks my heart!" "It would not be of much use either, father; all the boys would earn would not help us much." "But do you know of any better way to help?" "Yes, Antony. I will go back to the factory myself." "You, Salome!” cried Antony, looking at his wife with tears in his eyes. "And why not? You know I used to be a capital hand at the printing; and if I have got out of practice by this time, diligence and good-will will soon make up for it. You go to-morrow and ask Mr. Staubig to give me a table, and you will see that I will earn two or three times as much as both the boys!" "But at your age, and with your weak health, am I to let you go to the factory and stand all day over the printing-table? No, wife, that will not do! And, besides, you have as much as you can do with the housework and the children; and if you went to the factory, everything in the house would go to sixes and sevens, and little Lena would be neglected. No, no, Salome; you must not think of it." "Come, Antony, sit down here in your father's chair -so; now give me your hand, that I may hold you fast, that you cannot run away from me. This morning I was as bad as you; my heart was very heavy; I could see no help and no end to our trials. Then I went to church, and on the way I met Swiss Anna. She and poor lame Eli are much poorer and worse off than we are." "They must both go to the poorhouse; there is no other way of it. I said so long ago." "But they won't take them in, because they do not belong to the country.-Well, as I said, I went to church with Swiss Anna; and the pastor 'preached to us,' as Anna said. Even the opening hynin, He who doth glad submission render, and hopes in God from day to day,' went to my heart, and it grew lighter during the singing. And then the beautiful text, 'Casting your care upon Him, for He careth for you:'-now don't be impatient, Antony, I am not going to repeat the whole sermon to you; but it was very beautiful, and Anna and I both wept over it." "And what good did the fine sermon do you? Did it make you richer?" "Not in gold and silver, Antony, but in faith, and in the knowledge that God loves us; and that is the highest riches." "We must live for all that, wife." "To be sure; and we must not lay our hands in our lap, but must work hard, and do our part. And what I was going to tell you, Antony: after church I went to good old Mr. Reymann, and told him of our necessity; and it was he who advised me to leave the boys at school and rather go to the factory myself. Yes, and about our house, he said it was not sold yet; we should keep up our courage, and, with the help of God and of good men, we might stay in it yet." "Good men are rare, Salome, especially in hard times. Did you tell Mr. Reymann that we failed to pay the interest last year; so that, besides the capital, there is now two years' interest due?" "Yes; and I told him, too, how good the doctor's | fed," (Ps. xxxvii. 3) in her heart and on her tongue. widow was to us when we could not pay the money when it fell due; but now that she is dead, the heirs will have the money, and if we cannot pay it, our house must be sold. But hear what a noise the boys are making outside, and it is Sunday evening!” "Let the poor fellows laugh and enjoy themselves while they can; they will soon be shut up between four dark walls. But what did Mr. Reymann say to you ?” "Well, as I told you, he said we must not despair; he would think the matter over, and I was to come along again to-morrow. But I must go out to the children; the noise grows worse and worse!" But she was a wise woman, and was well pleased to sce her husband's dark mood gradually giving place to a better one, so she did not speak; and when Josephine asked, "And what do you think of it, auntie ?" she answered quietly, "I think it is time to have our evening worship and go to bed, that we may all be up and ready for work in the morning." She brought out the Bible, repeated a short earnest prayer, and read the sixth chapter of Matthew from the 25th to the 33rd verse: "Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye "And the hundred francs for Finy's apprentice fee, shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the we still owe that too, mother." body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (for after all these things do the Gentiles seek :) for “Hush, father; don't let poor Finy hear that. The dear child is so pleased at the thought that she can now earn something, and help us in these hard times. And when I tell her that she must work another year for Mrs. | Stehwart, to work off the fee, there will be bitter tears and sore disappointment.-But the children must be out of their senses, for I hear Finy and Tony's voices too; they should have more sense, and not let the boys make such a disturbance on the Sabbath evening." So saying, Mrs. Lindfelder went into the little bedroom and opened the window. But when she saw the blazing fire, and the happy children round it, she was glad too, and called into the next room, "Oh, come here, Antony, and see what a beautiful harvest-fire they have got!" "Mother, give us potatoes to roast; only a few," cried your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all the boys. "Auntie, take the little one; she is so wild I cannot hold her back; and her frock is wet through with the mist. I'm afraid she'll get cold," said Josephine, lifting Lena up to her mother at the open window. But the little one struggled with hands and feet, and cried, "No, no! stay with the fire and roast potatoes." "Wait a little; I'll bring some," said the father; "and while we roast them, mother will make us some coffee." "I must go away into the town, to Swiss Anna and old Eli," said Josephine. "I'm going with you, Finy," cried Tony. But Mrs. Lindfelder said, "You had better both of you stay at home. It's as dark as pitch; and in this thick mist you might easily fall into the canal. I will go myself to-morrow." The father brought out the potatoes, and the boys roasted them with great delight. The mother made the coffee, and Josephine lighted the candles and set the table. And while they were enjoying their supper, the boys told about the snow-geese, about America, and the house that Tony wished to build there. The father was interested, and made all sorts of plans with Tony and the boys for emigrating to America. Josephine, with little Lena sleeping on her lap, listened with delight. Mrs. Lindfelder had the text, "Thou shalt dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." "Amen!" said all except the father, who, with his head buried in his hands, seemed to be lost in thought. "How many of you know the hymn, 'He who doth glad submission render,' ?" asked the mother. "I do," said Dresy; "we learned it to-day in the Sunday school." "Then you know it too, Hammy." "Which one?" "The one that you were taught at the school to-day." "Ah! about glad submission ;-but I can't say it very well." "Take the hymn-book, Josephine, and read out the lines, and then we can all sing it together." "That's the way," said Tony; "then I can sing too." Josephine got the book and read always two lines at a time. Mrs. Lindfelder and Dresy began, the others joined in, and they sang together the following verses :--He who doth glad submission render, And hopes in God from day to day, Shall have a leader and defender, Through all the dangers of his way; We only heavier make our cross, "O think not, in thine hour of sadness, That thou of God forsaken art; For he is near thee, as when gladness And tranquil joy are round thy heart. God's purpose in each varying hour Will blossom soon in many a flower. "Then sing, and pray, and heavenward pressing, "Good night, wife; good night, children," said the father, when the singing was done; and, kissing his sleeping darling, he went quietly into the bedroom. Formerly, when Anton Lindfelder was out of humour, he would go to bed noisily during the evening worship, or at least sit snoring in the arm-chair; to-night, for the first time, he had listened attentively, and seemed even to be impressed by the comforting words of the Lord, and by the sweet singing of his children. Mrs. Lind felder observed this with a grateful heart, and when she had put the children to bed, and said good-night to Tony and Josephine, she went softly into the bed-room and stood before the bed. For many nights past, her husband had tossed about, sighing and groaning, half the night through; now he was sleeping quietly. Salome stood looking at him with folded hands, and tears in her eyes; then she sank on her knees, and prayed with an overflowing heart: "Yes, dear Lord, those that trust in thee, thou wilt never forsake!" As she rose, she noticed that Josephine had been kneeling beside her. She threw her arms round the weeping girl. "Oh, auntie, what will happen to us now?" she whispered. What God wills, Finy." "Must the house really be sold?" "I don't know, my child. But the Lord knows what we have need of; and if we put our trust in him, and pray, and work, he will surely not forsake us. So be comforted, and do not be afraid. God careth for us.” LESSONS FROM LIFE FOR THE CHILDREN. BY THE EDITOR. II. ABOUT PIGEONS. UR house, when I was a boy, was perched on the bank of a beautiful winding river. The land on either side, partly cultivated, and partly in grass, stretched away to the roots of the two ranges of hills that bounded the valley. We were well acquainted with all manner of living creatures, tame and wild-flying, running, creeping, or swimming. Our chief companions and playfellows, in those days, were either winged or quadruped. Dogs and rabbits, pigeons and singing-birds, were at once our treasures and our companions. Beasts of prey did not trouble us much; for wolves were extirpated in the days of our forefathers, and foxes were by that time few and far between. Many stories were told of reynard's cunning and cleverness in stealing a goose for his supper; but in our quarter we were never troubled by his depredations. Rats were more dreaded than any more bulky adversaries. Woe to the young rabbits and young pigeons, if the rats could reach their dwelling-place! One very tender incident remains upon my memory in connection with a very small and very beautiful white pigeon. I had become the proud and happy owner of a pair. I had constructed for them a suitable house inside the roof of the barn, with two neat holes through the gable, by which they might fly abroad and return home at pleasure. A pretty wooden perch was fixed outside for the convenience of alighting from flight. This erection was amply sheltered from the rain by a projecting roof, and the whole was painted in brilliant white. We imagined that as the inhabitants were very clean, their habitation should correspond; we thought the brightness and beauty of its vestibule would help to entice the owners to their home. This is a good rule for creatures of a higher order than pigeons. A clean house, and a bright hearth, and comfortable meal, and a smiling welcome are of use in human habitations, to draw the family towards home. My thoughts by day, and my dreams by night, centred in these most lovely doves. The elder children, observing the excess of my passion for the pets, took various means to vex and frighten me-all for amusement. I am very sorry that this instinct seems to be almost universal among elder brothers and sisters to tease the little ones. Not that they mean to be cruel. They think it is all good fun, and that it hurts nobody. It is not fun to the child: it is serious in his esteem. He has all the sensation of being cruelly persecuted. These very small annoyances may leave an ugly mark on the memory of the very little man. It is better that his seniors should avoid these tricks. The mischief which they cause is not measured by their bulk, but by the exaggerated thoughts of the teased and angry child. One fine summer day, when I was in charge of the cows on their pasture on the opposite side of the rivermy duty being to see that said cows kept to their lawful |